


To Those Who Wait

by heeroluva, Lena7142



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Introspection, M/M, Monologue, POV Steve Rogers, Paralysis, Reunions, Timeline What Timeline, vlogging - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 13:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11276139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena7142/pseuds/Lena7142
Summary: Steve wakes up in the 21st century only to find that when the Valkyrie crashed, he was injured and left partially paralyzed from the waist down.  He's okay and making do. Most days. Usually.





	To Those Who Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [portraitoftheoddity](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/), for creating such a lovely piece of art and acting as the inspiration for this.

  
[Art Post on Tumblr](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/post/162143227674/view-at-full-size-in-which-steven-grant-rogers)

  
  


Steve adjusted the camera for the hundredth time, cleared his throat, and knowing that he’d delayed enough, hit record. “So this is kind of strange. I feel like I'm talking to myself, which I guess basically I am. Dr. Takimoto thought I might be more comfortable making a video alone and going over it together later, since I can't seem to open up to him.

“He wants to hear about my life, but it’s fairly boring. I typically hit the gym in the morning, in part because it’s empty then and I’m still learning my limitations which is less embarrassing when I don’t have an audience.” Steve gestured down towards his legs.

“Afterwards, I’ll shower before heading to the coffee shop around the corner to grab breakfast. I don’t know what you guys did to bananas, but they are _nothing_ like I remember them. Bobby the cook already knows my order and has it done by the time I’m finished with my first cup of coffee. I’m convinced he gives me extra free of charge, which is appreciated, but I wish he wouldn’t. Some mornings one of the regulars, Doris, will join me and share the letters from her sons who are both serving in the Middle East.

“Then I’ll typically head towards the East River. The Brooklyn Bridge Park is a great place to draw. I didn’t have much in the ways of supplies or time during the war, and hadn’t realized how much I missed it until I could do it whenever I wanted. The art supply stores these days spoil me for choices, and I’m amazed by the art people create using a computer. I’ve been thinking of taking some classes. 

“Anyway back to the park. There’s such a mix of people of all ages for me to sketch. Sometimes I’ll be drawing the skyline and get confused because what I’m seeing wasn’t what I remembered. There’s a homeless man, Ray, who loves when I draw him, and says I make a better likeness than any photograph. Really I’m not that good, but I’m happy he likes it. He’ll bend your ear with tales of his exploits with Captain America for as long as you’ll let him. I don’t have it in me to tell him I know he’s lying.

“Some days I’ll spend all morning there. Some days I’ll head into SHIELD. At first there were a lot of medical tests, X-rays and scans, trying to figure out what was wrong with my legs. I can feel them. Sometimes. Usually hot and cold, or pressure on good days. On bad days, it’s—you know that staticy pins and needles feeling you get when your foot falls asleep? It’s like that, but a thousand times worse and nothing I do makes it better. I just try to distract myself.

“The doctors seem surprised that I’m not healing, but I’m not sure why. The serum didn’t give me a healing factor. For all that I threw myself into dangerous situations, I never thought myself invulnerable, and I knew it would probably catch up to me sooner rather than later.

“SHIELD is also worried about my mental health, which is obviously why I’m doing this. It’s a strange concept to me. I’d heard of Sigmund Freud and his couch therapy, but never considered that’d I’d need something like that. It seems like everyone has a therapist these days, that it’s even regulation to see one in SHIELD. I understand why it’s required, and I think it can be a good thing for many people, but I’m not sure if this is all really necessary for me.

“I think SHIELD wants me to work for them, but I’m not sure that I want to. Not really sure what I actually want to do, but I have several decades of back pay that I think will hold me over until I can figure it out, even with the ridiculous costs of things these days. I do know I wouldn’t be happy behind a desk telling people what to do. I spent too much time on the front lines to be content not being a part of the action.

“Anyway, back to what I do. For lunch I like to try new things. There are so many choices and I want to try it all. In the afternoons I like to explore, see how things have changed, see if I can find anything that’s the same. If something catches my interest, sometimes I’ll stop and draw for a while. Sometimes I head up to Central Park or down to Prospect Park. Some days I’ll head to the library. The information available is overwhelming at times. I’ve taken a few of the free computer classes that they’ve offered. I learned more there than the lessons that SHIELD gave me. Sorry, most of those just went over my head.

“In the evenings I’ll head home and try my hand at cooking. I used to enjoy it, and there are so many more options out there now. I was really good at making a buck stretch. It’s strange not having to anymore. Some nights I’ll watch movies or relax and listen to music. Sometimes I’ll hit the gym again. It’s hard to fall asleep some nights because I feel like I still have energy to burn.

“So yeah, that’s my typical day. Now how do I—ah, there—” Steve stopped the recording. When it prompted him to upload it, Steve pressed confirm like Dr. Takimoto had showed him.

 

  
A week later Steve was at the computer again, ready to record another video. Steve frowned at the screen and hit record.

“Dr. Takimoto thought that my first video was good, that I was a natural. Not sure what that means since I’ve been able to talk for over twenty years now. He felt that I needed to open up more, to not be afraid to talk about what’s going on in my head.

“I’m not afraid to talk about anything, but I’m not sure what good talking is supposed to do. It won’t change anything. The world changed in the seventy plus years that I was frozen, but I’m still me. People are hesitant to ask about my legs, scared like they’ll hurt my feelings, like they think I’m crying myself to sleep every night. I’ve read the history books. They have kids memorize a list of all the medical conditions I had before the serum changed me. They know I wasn’t always like this.

“The serum spoiled me, gave me a shot at a life I’d have never had without it, and I’m always grateful for that, but I’ve never forgotten where I came from, who I was. I’m still the scrawny kid from Brooklyn who doesn’t know when to back down. This—” Steve paused and waved a hand down towards his legs. “This isn’t the end of my world. Yes, it sucks. Yes, I wish I could walk again. At times I wish I could be out there again on the front lines, but at the same time it’s kind of a relief not to have to be.

“There are other things I can do, dreams I had before the war, things I never thought I’d be able to do that I now have the opportunity to persue. Maybe I’m lucky that it took so long for people to find me. The technology and accommodations made for people like me never cease to amaze me. Every day I learn new things. I can get around on my own. I’m not trapped in a bed, never able to go anywhere as probably would have happened in the past.

“You probably want to hear about what does make me cry though. Try imaging waking up and almost everyone you ever knew was dead. It sucks, right? I don’t know what I’d have done if not for Peggy. She makes it more bearable. She’s old, lived a whole life without me, found happiness, but she’s still Peggy. Some days it’s hard though. They say she has something called Alzheimer's disease. She forgets things. Some days she seems to remember all my visits, but on others, it’ll be like the first time all over again.

“I don’t regret the choice I made that brought me here. If I knew this would be my future on that plane, I’d have done the same thing. There was no other choice. Do I have regrets? Of course. I was fighting a war. People died on my watch, people who trusted me, people who shouldn’t—” Steve broke off and swallowed thickly looking away from the camera. “Think that’s enough for now,” Steve said before hitting the stop recording button. Uploading it when he was prompted, Steve dropped his head to the desk and out out a shuddery sigh.

That had gone both better and worse than Steve had expected. It wasn’t so different from the typical stream of consciousness that ran through his head, but hearing it out loud made it more real somehow. For the world it had been decades since the war, but for Steve it had only been months. There were still days that he woke up and forgot where and when he was. Remembering was always a shock to his system.

 

  
Steve let the door slam shut behind him as he threw his keys in the bowl on the table beside the door with more force than was strictly necessary, scowling as they slid up the side and out before falling to the floor. Steve left them where they fell and wheeled himself to the bathroom, hoping the pounding of hot water against his body would calm him down.

His session with Dr. Takimoto had gone worse than the previous ones. Steve had known Dr. Takimoto would watch the video, but Steve hadn’t really been prepared for the specific questions he’d had after watching. Before, the doctor’s questions had been mostly shots in the dark, guess work, but now he had the perfect ammunition and knew just where to poke. With each question Steve had grown more and more tense, until finally Dr. Takimoto had said a name that had him calling the session to a halt. “I can’t do this,” Steve had said before making a hasty exit.

Getting into and out of his pants was still awkward without being able to move his legs, but Steve was making do. Setting the water temperature to as high as it would go, Steve maneuvered himself onto the shower seat and resting his head against the tile wall, let the water pound down against him.

This was a luxury Steve had quickly grown to love. In the past, he’d often made do with sponge baths, cold ones at that, and during the war, they’d been lucky if they could find a clean stream to clean off the worst of the grime on occasion. Sometimes he felt guilty about how much water he used, but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Everything was too raw, and Steve just wanted to forget and feel nothing.

Steve wasn’t sure how long he sat there, his head blessedly empty, at least temporarily. It was long enough for his skin to turn red and pruney and tingle from the abuse. Deciding that he’d been in there long enough, he made quick work of washing his hair and scrubbing himself clean before shutting off the water and drying himself. He didn’t bother dressing beyond pulling on a pair of boxers, a towel still slung around his neck, Steve wheeled himself to the desk.

Steve knew he had to do this, had been avoiding the subject for too long, even with Peggy, snapping at her when she’d brought it up before apologizing profusely when she’d been startled by his response. Starting the recording program, Steve made sure that he was in frame, and drawing a deep breath, he hit record.

“James Buchanan Barnes. He preferred to be called Bucky though. Bucky was… he was my best friend… no, not just that, he was family. I’ve seen rumors that we were lovers, but we were never that. If things had been different, if he hadn’t been so into dames and if my heart hadn’t been so bad, well who knows?” Steve shrugged. “There’s really no point in speculating. What matters is that I loved him. I wouldn’t have been the man I am today without him. Probably wouldn’t have even survived my childhood if not for him.

“Bucky never saw me as lesser because of my handicaps, and he pushed me not to see myself that way either. He pushed me to fight when I was sick. I don’t think I would have had the strength to do that without him. He’s the one who taught me to fight. I’m sure there were days where he regretted my applications of the lessons, but I like to think that he was damn proud of me too.

“Bucky was… unbelievably loyal and went out of his way to protect people. He learned quick though, that I didn’t appreciate his interference. I could fight my own fights. I wasn’t weak. He taught me that. He was gregarious, loved being the center of attention and telling stories. He would drag me out of the apartment, not let me stay cooped up. There were times I hated it, but I’m also thankful for it.

“When the war came again, I got it in my head that I needed to help. I tried to enlist, but obviously was rejected. We fought about that so many times. We’d fought before, but nothing like those fights that would leave us screaming at each other and end with one person storming out of the apartment. When I found out Bucky had enlisted without telling me, I’d never felt so betrayed as he’d thrown my own reasons back in my face. It wasn’t until later that I’d found out that he’d been drafted, that he’d been trying to protect me.

“My whole life Bucky protected me. Even during the war, he took out the soldiers that I missed or didn’t notice. And when it came time for me to return the favor—” Steve broke off, scrubbing his hand across his burning eyes, surprised by the wetness there, not realizing he’d even been crying. “I failed.” Steve voice broke and his chest heaved as he forced out the words. “He was so close, but I couldn’t reach him. And then he fell.” Steve’s throat constricted, his next words only a whisper. “I still hear his screams in my dreams.”

Steve sniffed and wiped at his face. “I know he’s been dead for decades, but for me, it feels like it’s only been a few months. I still expect to turn around and find him there at my back. I know he would hate knowing just how broken up about his death I still am. I know he’d want me to be happy. But what are you supposed to do when the most important person in your world is suddenly gone? I’m trying.

“Every day, I wake up and go out, even the days where I’d love to do nothing except stay in. I socialize. I talk to people. I do things I enjoy. I explore this world and learn something new every day. But a part of me wishes that he was here at my side to experience it too. I don’t think that desire will ever go away. It’s something I have to live with. As is the knowledge that I failed him.

“I know Bucky was far from perfect, but he was the best thing that happened to me. I’ll miss him for the rest of my life.”

Steve stopped recording and uploaded the video. He’d told a lie, that he and Bucky hadn’t been lovers. They hadn’t been really. It had happened once during the war. The Howling Commandos had stumbled across an abandoned but clearly untouched house in the countryside with real beds and sheets and blankets that weren’t full of lice and fleas.

Steve had woken to Bucky sliding under the blankets with him. He’d been surprised when Bucky had kissed him desperately but hadn’t protested, instead had returned the kiss eagerly, had let Bucky take the comfort and the contact that he’d so obviously needed. It had been one of the best nights of Steve’s life. Waking up alone in the bed had been an unpleasant shock, and when Bucky never mentioned it again, Steve had respected his choice. Now he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened had he not held his peace.

That memory was Steve’s though, and not one he wanted to share.

Deciding he needed to get some fresh air, Steve washed his face and pulled on his workout clothes. While his building had a gym that he could and often did use, he’d heard about a gym a number of blocks over that he’d been meaning to check out for a while. It had advertised as being wheelchair accessible and specialized in helping people with physical limitations.

Out of habit Steve grabbed his bag that held his sketchbook and other supplies before heading out the door and towards the gym. He didn’t know the exact address, but knew the general area where it was supposed to be located and was confident that he could find it.

Steve’s rehabilitation (if you could call the tests that he had been put through that) had been done in private SHIELD facilities, and typically the other injuries that he’d seen were bullet wounds, lacerations, and broken bones. There had been one man so horribly burned that the doctors kept him unconscious.

The way Steve’s guts twisted unpleasantly upon seeing the other men and women in wheelchairs or using crutches, some of them clearly ex-military, had Steve stopping half way down the block. He didn’t understand the sudden welling of guilt in his chest. No, maybe he did a little. He’d never stopped to consider how lucky he was. The serum had been a gift, and without it he’d be long dead. Suddenly needing to be anywhere but here, Steve spun his chair around and nearly knocked over a man who had been walking by.

The black man caught himself on Steve’s shoulder, as Steve apologized profusely, “Shit, I’m so sorry. I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings.”

Straightening, the man smiled, and shook his head. “Hey man, no harm done.” Offering his hand, he said, “I’m Sam Wilson.”

Steve returned the smile and took the offered hand. “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

Sam’s smile widened. “Yeah, I kind of got that.” Sam nodded towards the gym. “Are you here for my class at the gym?”

“Nah, I was just passing by. Have somewhere to be. Was nice meeting you, Sam,” Steve said as he sped away.

“Hey, man, wait!” Sam said, but Steve was already turning around the corner.

Heart in his throat Steve wandered aimlessly. The people outside the gym certainly weren’t the first people that Steve had seen in a wheelchair since he’d awoken in this century, but he hadn’t really interacted with any of them. But now confronted with the possibility of interacting with people with similar disabilities, he was scared shitless. Maybe he’d been lying to himself. Maybe he wasn’t as okay with being wheelchair bound as he’d previously thought. It was one thing to explore the limits of his body on his own, but to do it in front of people who weren’t medical staff set his heart racing.

Sometime later Steve found himself in front of the gym again just watching the comings and goings of people. He jumped when a paper cup of coffee appeared in front of his face. The man from earlier, Sam, moved to stand beside him.

Steve took the cup and took a sip, enjoying the warmth. “Thanks, man.”

Sam smiled, dropping his hand to Steve’s shoulder and squeezed. “We don’t bite.”

Steve snorted and choked on the coffee, doubling over as he coughed. “Not really worried about that.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. No one here will judge you.”

Steve looked at him side eyed but stayed silent.

Gesturing down at his left leg, Sam said, “Lost my leg and my wingman in a pararescue mission gone wrong. We all have our demons. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“It’s just—” Steve broke off, not certain of the words he was looking for. Instead Steve motioned towards Sam leg and asked, “How long has it been?” 

“A year last week.”

“And the guilt?”

Sam’s smile went rueful. “I’ll let you know when that happens. You want to grab a beer? I know a great German place around the corner.”

Steve’s brow rose, and Sam seemed to realize who he was talking to.

“Shit, man, sorry—”

Steve laughed. “I’m pulling your leg. German sounds great.”

Sam’s smile was infectious, and hours later it was with great reluctance that Steve headed home with Sam’s number stored securely in his phone and the promise that they’d have to do it again sometime. It was the most fun he’d had since—Steve’s good mood instantly evaporated, the good food and drinks he’d had over the course of the evening suddenly sitting heavy in his stomach. It was a long time before Steve could sleep that night.

 

Groaning at the sudden ringing of his phone, Steve pressed a pillow over his head and tried to drown out the sound. The silence that finally followed was wonderful and he was just drifting back to sleep when the phone rang again. Scowling, Steve tossed the pillow away and reached towards the nightstand for his phone. He didn’t look at the caller before answering. “Hello?”

“You might want to turn on the TV, Rogers,” Fury’s voice said over the line.

“Sir, what’s happened?” Steve asked as he looked around for the remote, finally finding it on the floor by the nightstand and squirming down to reach it.

“Seems like Stark included some extras on your computer. When you uploaded your videos to Dr. Takimoto they were also uploaded to the YouTube account Stark set up for you.”

Steve knew what YouTube was, had found it both very informative and very addicting. Mind racing, Steve tried to remember if he’d said anything that could be a security risk. “What are the damages, sir?”

“Nothing except your privacy. I just wanted to give you a heads up. The media is having a field day. Expect interview requests. Our press relations team will be in contact with you shortly.”

Fury hung up, and Steve turned on the TV. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t to be greeted with picture of him and Bucky and headlines of “Captain America Bares All” and “Captain America GAY?!” and “Captain America Admits Love for War Hero Bucky Barnes.”

Steve wasn’t ashamed of the love he had for Bucky, but to have it out there for the world to speculate about didn’t sit right for him. There were certainly more important things for the media to be covering.

Knowing that Fury would probably be pissed at his actions, Steve still moved to the computer and began recording.

“Well, this is kind of awkward. When I was making those vlogs, I think is the right word, I wasn’t aware that the whole world would be able to see them. It seems like the love I have for my best friend is a big story right now. I’m probably old fashioned, but surely there are more important things for the news to cover than my sexuality? I’m honored really, but all the headlines are calling me Captain America. You know what, Captain America died during the war. He gave his life for his country, and me, I’m just Steve Rogers, an ex-soldier. There’s no going back to who I once was. Both the world and I have changed too much for that.

“If anyone cares for it, my advice as a person is don’t let anyone make you feel ashamed of who you love. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret not taking a risk and telling Bucky how I felt. That’s a regret I’ll have to live with the rest of my life. I don’t wish that on anyone else.

“The world now, it’s so fast paced, and everyone has so much information readily available that it takes a mere swipe or mouse click to access. If the war taught me anything, it’s that life is too short to spend it trying to please other people. Take happiness where you can find it. Enjoy the little things.

“Take it or leave it, I’m just a man who hopes that if anything my story can help others find some kind of happiness.” Steve stopped the recording, uploaded it, turned off the phone, and decided it was a good time to try going to that gym again.

 

  
Later that evening Steve struggled to balance the box of paint supplies on his lap and unlock his door at the same time. It was times like this that he almost wished he’d taken Fury up on his offer to install a keyless entry system. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the convenience, so much as much as he felt that such technology was often too fallible. A regular lock wouldn’t hold up against the brute force of someone who really wanted to get in, but a person with the right skillset could easily bypass the so called smart locks that seemed to be popular these days.

Finally shoving the door open, Steve wheeled into his apartment and tossed his keys and wallet into the bowl on the table by the door. Reaching to flick the hallway light on, something he couldn’t quite place made his hair stand on end, and he carefully kept his face and breathing calm as he hit the switch and moved towards the kitchen table. Setting his box on it, Steve turned towards the cabinets and reached for the drawer that held a gun. He’d have much preferred his shield, but he’d left that with SHIELD, claiming that he had no use for it now, the way that he was, and asked that they gave it to someone more suited to use it.

Steve’s blood began to race as he opened the drawer and found the gun missing from its customary place. Hearing a sound from the living room, Steve grabbed the heavy cast iron pan from the stove. A man seemingly asleep in his recliner wasn’t what Steve expected to find. Carefully nudging the man with the pan, Steve didn’t expect the sudden sweep of the knife that caught him across the arm before he could get the pan up to block it.

Another motion of the knife had Steve throwing himself to the side, his chair overturning and clattering against the floor as he scrambled back from the large figure who was barely illuminated by the light from the hallway. Chucking the heavy pan at the man, Steve wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised when it hit the man square in the face. Using the man’s momentary distraction, Steve scrambled back towards the kitchen and reaching the cabinets, heaved himself up and managed to knock the knife block off the counter, grabbing a knife as the man tried to kick it away.

Steve cursed his useless legs as they twisted and he fell onto his back. Before he could move the stranger was upon him, straddling him, and Steve swiped at his arm, surprised when the knife sounded like it scraped against metal instead of cutting into flesh. Barely having time to question the possibility of a metal arm, Steve’s wrists were caught by it and shoved above his head, effectively pinning him as his lower body was deadweight. Steve tried to struggle, but a single world caused him freeze as his heart raced even faster.

“Steve.”

Steve would know that voice anywhere. For the first time in years, Steve’s lungs felt like they were seizing, that he couldn’t breathe. He squinted in the dim light, brain trying to process the situation. The hair was longer, the body more heavily muscled than he’d ever seen, but that jawline, those eyes, Steve could never forget them. Somehow, despite all the odds, despite the fact that it made no sense, Bucky, his Bucky, was here, and alive.

“You’re Steve,” Bucky said again.

Swallowing thickly, Steve nodded, “Yes, and you’re Bucky.”

“I was looking for answers, but all I found was more questions. I saw your video. You lied.”

Lied? Steve’s brain was whirling, stuck in a loop, unable to process anything except the fact that Bucky was alive. What had he lied about?

“My memories. I can’t trust them. You said we weren’t lovers, but I remember a house in the countryside. I came to you that night.”

“Yes.” Steve flexed his arms. “You can let me go now.”

Bucky quickly released him. “You lied.”

Steve caught the metal hand as Bucky tried to hide it away, examining the fingers before bringing them to his mouth and pressing a kiss to them. “Yes, I was selfish. I wanted that memory for myself.”

Bucky swallowed audibly at Steve’s action, clearly fighting against the urge to pull his hand away. “Was it only the one time?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

How was Steve supposed to answer a question like that? “Because we were both idiots? Because I was scared? Because you always turned down the men who cruised you so I wasn’t sure you even liked men or that you really wanted me beyond the comfort that I could offer.”

“I always wanted you,” Bucky said with such conviction that he seemed to surprise himself. Then a moment later, he added, “I want to kiss you.”

Steve smiled. “What’s stopping you?”

Bucky pressed his lips against Steve, a light touch, hesitant, questioning, and Steve opened to it eagerly. Bucky let out a groan that seemed to be wrenched from the center of his very being and vibrated through Steve’s body as he deepened the kiss. It was so like that kiss so many years ago, desperate and needy and so full of the emotions that Bucky felt for him that Steve must have sure been an idiot to not recognize what he’d already had. 

Steve had so many questions and no answers, but all that mattered right now was that Bucky was here with him alive.


End file.
